poetry by j matthew waters

office pools and telephone lines

they sat inside shadow boxes
listening to the telephone ring
sharing desires and dreams
up and down the tufted line
someone on the other end
complained profusely
to someone who pretended to care
all the while launching sharpened
pencils into the glass ceiling
one of them strolled from station
to station with palm wide open
collecting dollar bills and stuffing
them into a groundless folgers can
come monday morning
they would do it all over again
listening to the telephone ring
and explaining what they’d do
with their fair share